Page 32 of Van Cort

WEST

If I were even half the man I’m trying to be, I’d do something insidious, or sinister, or perhaps even ruinous.

I’m not, though. Not really. I’m not him, and no matter how much I try to front that out, it’s just not natural for me to hate like he does.

It doesn’t help that she’s everything a woman should be and more.

And now, as I sit here in the armchair watching her drift off into drunken slumber, I find myself thinking about things that have no business being part of this fractious arrangement.

I’m relaxing, enjoying, yearning.

Long, soft waves of golden silk lap along the bedspread, gently falling down the edge of luxury sheets. I could spend hours wrapped up in that. Soft lips would drop onto my mouth, and that giggle she has would penetrate me while a golden curtain hung a shade over us.

Hair. It’s just fucking hair.

Pretty hair.

I sneer and look at the dark wood bed she’s in, remembering a father who turned us into the men we are today.

Much as I hate Rhett for what he did, he’s as much a part of me as I am him, and all this around us now brings acute memories back of what we could have been, and what we could have had.

Because everything around me now made us, didn’t it? Our youth here moulded us.

As frustrating as those memories are, they also call to me in a way that no other person could imagine. I can feel him again now we’re close, so deeply, and with her here in the middle of that, I’m falling closer and closer to wanting a future I should be destroying for him. He doesn’t deserve it.

An hour or so ticks by on the clock, and I still can’t help but look at her face as she sleeps peacefully.

Pouty, wide lips. Angled cheeks that seem to bounce what little light there is in here from the moon around.

And that fucking hair. Why is that so damned gripping to me?

It’s like it was grown for Van Cort alone, bred somehow to match the gold generations of us forged.

I can almost feel my fingers on her skin, her hands on my face.

She’d smile and we’d tumble into some fucking adventure that made me want nothing else but that.

The shadows by the door change. I don’t need to look up or away from her. I felt him approaching, and now what? He’s going to stand there and increase this need in me by simply existing? Interestingly, for once, I don’t know if he’s smiling or frowning about the concept.

I tilt my head to look.

He’s doing neither. Just standing.

Leaning, actually.

The corner of his mouth tips up slightly, like he knows everything I’m battling with, and he rolls his shirt sleeves up casually.

There isn’t a damn thing casual about any of this, and he knows it.

The fact that he hasn’t told her about me, and has brought her here – to our home, our past, our hatred and our love – proves it.

He knew I’d come, knew I’d follow. He basically invited me.

He flicks his chin at her, as if giving me permission to get on with the very thing I’ve been thinking about.

I should tell him to go screw himself rather than allow him to watch me with her.

I don’t want to, though. I want to feel whole again, like I did when he had her on the piano, and my treacherous legs seem to lift me from the chair without any fucking consent from my head.

My fingers don’t care either, because they start undoing my shirt – his shirt, and my pants – his pants, and before long I’m moving her hair from the side of the bed and sliding in next to her.

She moans lightly and rolls over towards me, her hand reaching for me until it’s resting on my bare chest, and she smiles in her sleep. I could just let her do that and rest, but that isn’t what either of us are here for anymore. We’re searching, maybe healing somehow.

My lips lightly brush over hers and along her cheek until she stirs and lets her mouth connect with mine. There’s nothing forced or cold about it this time. It’s full of meaning to me, and within minutes, soft mewls and whimpers begin tumbling from her mouth.

My hand travels lower, letting her skin glide under my fingertips until they’re between her thighs and she’s widening for me. Our tongues dance, and moments become hours of getting lost in her skin, her taste, her sounds of rapture. Gentle touches, so soft and gentle.

“Everett,” she moans, breathlessly.

My spine stiffens, hand tensing inside her until I cover her mouth with mine again and shift her weight so she’s closer to me. “Put me inside you,” I whisper. Me.

Her hand is on me and drawing me closer instantly, leg wrapping over my waist so she can get as close as she can.

I roll onto my back as I slide inside her, pushing at her hips to get her to sit up and ride.

Everything about her stretches upright – tight abs, fine arms over her head, breasts that just fit perfectly on her perfect fucking body, and then that hair tumbles and rolls with her as she starts to move.

The sight damn near makes me cum on the spot.

Shadows flicker across her skin, accenting light and dark stripes on her body from the moon.

It’s slow and sensual, but builds until I’m shaking and she’s completely in control of everything. She teases me about it, too. Stopping every now and then, smiling at me, pouting and changing her moves so that she slows it back down, and I’m almost begging.

I lift myself and wrap my hands around her ass, shoving her down on me to stop the endless ride she’s playing with. “I want to cum.” Need to.

She tries lifting, smiling and giggling at my haste. “You’re impatient.” I lick my way across her chest, her nipples. “Slow down with me. I could do this all night.”

“Hard,” I murmur, around a mouthful of nipple.

“Try. Please.”

I lift her off me, almost pissed with myself that I can’t control her, and push her onto her back. “Fine. You asked for it.”

Body rolling down hers, I let my mouth do the work to keep the pressure off my dick.

She instantly puts her leg over my shoulder and tries to deal with the assault my tongue drives into her.

The shaking doesn’t take long to start as I tease her, over and over, bringing her to the edge but not over it.

Refusing her that final fall. Her mewls and moans rise in pitch every time she’s close, gripping my arm like it’s unbreakable.

“Please,” she begs. That’s better.

“You want to cum?”

“God, yes.”

I lift from between her legs, kissing my way back up her with a wry smile on my face. “No. Slow down.” Her face snaps to mine, and a wicked smile graces her lips.

“Ass.” Hmm. I roll my dick on her thigh, about ready to cum despite my attempt at control. “Fuck me already.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

None of the rest takes long. We’re both near the edge and ready to explode.

I slide into her heat and aim for slow, but desperation, need, sheer fucking agony in some ways makes my hips work quicker and harder than I want them to.

She clings on and kisses me all the way through, running her hands up my neck, gripping it.

Fuck! There’s no slowing now. I bury my face in her neck as we both come together.

My fingers stay biting into her ass, holding her to me so I can get every last inch of cum inside her.

It isn’t until I turn my head sideways to breathe that I remember he’s still here, watching us.

I got so lost in her and the feeling of him again that…

I don’t know… I fell into something I haven’t felt for a long time, if ever.

She shudders under me, as he stares at me, and finally softens her nails on the back of my neck. My hand runs the length of her thigh, gently skimming the softness of it now I’ve calmed down. It is like silk, as is her hair. All fucking perfect.

“Well, that was different for us,” she murmurs. I smile and keep looking at him. “I didn’t know you could be that soft.” He can’t.

I lick my lips and rest my head, still looking at him in the darkness and catching my breath.

Nothing’s said between us in the air, for obvious reasons, but we both know what just happened.

I gave her something that he can’t. And I wonder, as her nails trail my skin gently, if he even wants to.

I do. This is bliss for me. But Rhett isn’t like that, and I’m not sure he ever will be.